Girl's Night Out
by Cardboard Tube Knight
Summary: Molly goes on a girl's night out only to be left alone at the bar, when a stranger shows some interest she thinks, 'what's the harm'. But it seems that this stranger has more sinister motives. When Molly catches on she calls on Sherlock to help her.
1. Girls Night Out

**Girls Night Out**

****_Did some corrections on minor things  
><em>

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><p>"You are not just going to go home early and leave me here with Snooki and the Itty-Bitty-Titty-Committee," Saul said, the last jab was at Molly. But she didn't care, he was a friend and she'd come terms with her small breasts long ago, for the most part.<p>

The other part, about Serena was true, she did look like a red haired Snooki with all of that spray on tan. When Saul had first seen her he called her the Great Pumpkin and asked if Charlie Brown was close at hand. All of them had a great laugh over it, that was just how Saul was.

Molly punched him in the shoulder. "Piss off, my tits aren't up for discussion," Molly protested.

"Apparently they're not up for much else," Saul shot back.

Kara rolled her eyes even though Molly was laughing. "Don't listen to him, Mols. Some guys like them small-"

"It does help to be able to get your hands around them," Saul muttered.

Pat chuckled. "Like you would know," it was true. Saul was gay and the only woman he'd ever kissed had been Molly. Apparently she was attracting them now, she'd heard the term fag-hag used. Kara and Pat were about to share a cab back to the other side of town, they had to be up early for a shift and had already stayed out past the time they planned.

Serena was all over two guys on the dance floor, which meant that there would be at least two of that trio getting lucky tonight. Molly didn't like the idea of being left with Saul alone either, mostly because the kiss had kind of caught her off guard and made her uncomfortable with him after that. Even before it though they hadn't really been able to just sit and talk together.

Probably the only favor she had ever done him was driving him out of the closet. She guessed he sort of did a favor too, she could now claim that she'd kissed a black man. No one had to know he was gay.

Apparently Molly had missed part of the conversation. Kara was putting her foot down now, albeit in a gentle, kind way. ''Sorry Saul, but I just can't be arsed to stay out like this all night, I've already been here longer than I planned," Kara said fluffing at the side of her blonde hair with one hand.

"And I picked up Molly's shift at the morgue tomorrow, so I'm out," Pat chimed in.

That settled it, they were gone and Saul and Molly only stood there alone for a moment before breaking apart. She was at the bar sipping on a drink and she could see Saul every now and again with his arms up in the air, flexing his muscles through that tight purple shirt as he danced against some man. She sighed and turned back to the bar just as someone touched her hand.

"Alright, you gonna be havin' a drink then?" asked a blond chap with his hair combed back in gelled lines.

Molly glanced around thinking he must have been talking to some other girl and just wanted her to move. He snapped his fingers in her face. "Aye, lovely what do you say to a drink? You're not French are you?"

A smile spread over Molly's lips. "Qu'est-ce qui vous faire croire que je suis française?" she asked.

The man's expression dropped and he began to turn away, Molly caught his wrist to halt his retreat and he glanced at her confused. "No, I'm kidding," she said.

"Quick timing, wit and good looks, I like you already," he said.

Normally on nights like this she was surrounded by her mates and something about the group of them made them unapproachable looking. Pat was married and with the size of the ring Stanley had gotten her anyone looking at the pub or club from Google Earth would know it. Kara was that kind of regal, unapproachable pretty. She looked like she could be a member of the Swedish royal family or something.

With them gone, Molly guessed the usual buffer was gone and she had told herself that besides fancying one historically unreachable detective romance wasn't really for her. Still she wouldn't shoot this guy down just yet, who knows.

Molly smiled sincerely. "Yeah you can buy me a drink, that would be fine," she said. "I'm Molly by the way," she added sticking out her hand.

"Mark," he answered and gave her hand a little peck on the back. _Had he really just done that. _He broke the thought from her head with his next interruption. "I like that, Mark and Molly-its cute."

Molly blushed. "It is cute," she said in a small voice, her eyes glancing off to the side.

"You having one more of the same?" he asked and she nodded. He made the order and Molly couldn't even be bothered to think about the drink, she studied him. Cute face, but her eyes went to the next most logical place: his shoes loafers, clean and no sign of scuffs, a good brand too. That checked out. He was dressed well for this outing but not over dressed and there was no sign of a ring on his finger.

That was all she required to make sure she wasn't barking up the wrong tree. When she turned back to the television there was an advertisement for Graham Norton's Christmas show on and she realized how close it was to Christmas, how far things had come since the last year. She let out a sigh and looked back to Mark. He was pushing her newly placed drink down toward her and then picked up his own and sipped it.

"Did you come alone?" he asked her.

"I was with friends," Molly glanced around for a sign of Saul or Serena and there was none. "I guess they found something better to do with their time, yeah I'm alone then."

"Alone's not bad, I'm here alone too. Leaves some room for people to find someone else alone and not be so alone," Mark said.

Molly laughed. "I'm not the kind to…try not to be alone so fast," she didn't want to break from the metaphor. Maybe this made her come off sounding more prudish.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to insinuate that it was just a matter of sex, I'm talking about companionship, someone to talk to," he said.

"I like sex just fine though," Molly blurted out and she couldn't help but noticing she was playing with the stem of her glass in a suggestive manner. Stopping now would be too obvious, so she let it taper off slowly. "Sex can be a part of companionship, I'm not even against it in a casual nature…its just that it has to be someone I know and trust and have _some _feeling for," Molly said.

She was too forward with men, had always been forward and in 99.99% of the men she came across this was her reaction. The other 0.01%...

"You're a bold one," Mark said.

"You'd be surprised," she said.

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><p>Molly wasn't a big woman or even that tall. So its not surprising that the drinks hit her so hard and she had a sneaking suspicion that the real trouble had come somewhere around the time that the margaritas got added to the mix. She was dancing on Mark and had just come to the conclusion she didn't care anymore. These things she worried about normally didn't matter, like the fact that she had taken off her heels and had no idea where they were.<p>

She was far too drunk for them anyway.

Over time Mark had gotten to be a bit more hands on with his approach to her and when he started to kiss at her neck and nibble her ear she wanted to tell him to stop but it didn't seem like the right thing to do because maybe he was just having a little fun, maybe it had been too long for him (and for her too).

It didn't feel right though, even drunk it felt too fast and ambitious for the man she'd talked to about Toby while she sat at the bar sipping the first of many drinks. And the dancing became groping when he cupped her breast and tried to snake a hand around her thigh. "Stop, just stop it," the reply was curt and serious. The fun was over.

"What's going on," Mark said, his face muffled in her hair.

She wrenched her head to the side to put distance between them, anything to break contact. But her efforts were dulled by the alcohol. "I told you once I'm not looking for that," she said.

"Come on, live a little, Love."

"Stop, less you want bloody fingers. I'm on me period," she lied. She really was drunk, her mys were becoming mes and she was openly lying with little problem.

His hand didn't progress but it didn't recede either and she elbowed him in the stomach and stepped away. The floor seemed to be out to trick her, it was hard to tell just how far from the ground she was with each step and the flashing lights didn't help. Everything was hot and blurry and she turned to face him. "I think I'm done, really," she said.

Mark grabbed for her wrist and she scratched him in the face, hard. He screamed and jerked back. With all of the concentration she could muster she bolted for the bathroom and locked herself in one of stalls. She didn't know why she did what she did next, maybe it was the odd mix of bravery, fear and panic.

Molly excavated her mobile from between her breasts and phone Sherlock Holmes. "Hello, Sherlock," shockingly her voice had never seemed to clear with him before.

"Doctor Hooper, is there something matter?" he asked. "You're in a pub or club?"

"I'm right up the street from you, there's a man and I think he slipped something in my drink," she said right away. The facts on date rape drugs played in her head. "GHB I think, I haven't had anything to drink in thirty minutes but this feels wrong," she said.

Sherlock sighed. "Stay where you are, turn on your mobile's GPS and take a picture of your location, send the picture to me and I'll pull up the exact location," he said.

Molly nodded.


	2. Getting to Know You

**Getting to Know You**

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><p>He stepped into the pub, a little dive just blocks from Baker's Street and his flat. He would have ran the distance but given the seriousness of the situation he took a cab. John wasn't home and besides he couldn't be bothered with the ridiculous, sentimental tripe that he would have written on the blog had he known what Sherlock was going to do. It was like he could see the terrible blog title now.<p>

_Holmes is where the Heart is._

Sherlock cringed so hard that it must have been visible to the waitress he passed on the way inside. He had never been in this particular pub and he scanned the room, bathroom at the far side, two exits other than the door he had just come in. There were four bartenders, the place was pretty crowded and it looked as if they'd had a fair bit of trouble or expected it. The 'replica' gun hanging about the main bar was real—not a fake as one was meant to assume.

As Sherlock passed a table he glanced over to see a number of glasses, far too many, with the same shade of lipstick on them. Opposite of them was a single glass, half full—peculiar that the other person hadn't bothered to drink but one. He examined the glasses with the lipstick, picking one of them up. Molly's shade, he remembered all of the times in the lab when she had put it on, remembered her at the Christmas party that night. It was a definite match. And by the looks of it she had been _refreshing it_ periodically.

Across the room someone caught Sherlock's eye, a man watching the table very curiously. A deep gash on one side of his face, he nursed at the wound with a napkin full of ice. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and the man stepped out of the bar. He was talking to someone on his mobile, using blue tooth by the look of it.

Sherlock pulled out a small lab flask and emptied some of the most recent glass into it. He could tell it apart by the amount of ice and the darkness of the drink. He pushed the stopper firmly into the flash and slipped it into his coat. He proceeded into the women's room without hesitation and nearly bumped into a lavish looking redhead who seemed disgusted at the fact that he was there. "Keep moving," he said as she strutted past him and out the door. "Thank—you."

"Sherlock, is that you?" Molly was in the middle stall and somehow he knew she would be, there were only three choices, the outer one would seem too unsafe to her, the far side was handicapped and she would be worried about depriving someone who needed it. Middle was her all the way. He heard the latch on the door slip back and pushed his way inside. In the dimly lit bathroom with her pressed nearly up against him he had to admit it did stir something. For John to think that Sherlock didn't understand attraction was foolhardy, he just had no idea how to react to it.

"You've been crying?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Though she had managed to speak to him seconds ago she didn't seem completely up to the challenge now. Her head was resting on the wall of the stall and she was moving much. Her eyes were wet and glazed over. When he knelt down to look into her eyes they were dilated and followed his. A smile crept over Molly's face. "Hi Sherlock," she said, her fingers running along the inside of his coat, she took the time to feel each bump of the fabric and caressed very stitch she passed over. "Has anyone ever told you this coat is really nice, nice fucking coat," Molly said.

"We're getting you to Baker's Street, John will need to take a urine sample and possibly a hair one before it's too late and…"

"Ew why would John want my pee?" Molly asked with a giggle. "This wall is cold, but not a bad cold, it's like a good kind of cold."

Sherlock pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist. He walked her out into the pub and ordered a bottle of water from one of the bartenders. Sherlock got a second to go and made sure that she drank them. All the while Molly was gabbing away like he had never seen before.

"Saul was being a bitch again, he makes fun of my breasts all of the time and I don't honestly know why. Some men like small breasts, and at least my nipples are normal sized. Serena's got tiny little baby-man nipples. It's horrifying," she said all in one breath.

"I'm sure it is," Sherlock said.

"They're firm, not even saggy, feel one," Molly said with a giggle.

Sherlock ignored her, thought he was shocked that she ever talked this much. Molly touched the scarf around his neck. And he stopped turning to face her. "Are you cold? Here," he undid the scarf and draped it over her shoulders carefully. Molly gasped the ends of the scarf lovingly and she smiled. He sighed. "What is it?"

"Didn't you notice? I'm sure that you did but if you didn't that would be funny. I'm sure you did it intentionally," she said. "This is the scarf I got you for Christmas. You've been wearing it?" Molly began to jump and down in excitement.

It was cold and there hadn't been a cab yet. Sherlock spurred her along. "Come on, its cold out and you need to walk this off, Mrs. Hudson simply won't want this amount of noise in her rental properties…"

Molly stayed close to him and even took his arm. Sherlock didn't shrug her off or even mind. She provided him with some much needed extra warmth. The night air was brutal. The two of them turned up a side road and Sherlock noticed some men standing on the opposite side of the road. One of them turned to watch them and he thought to keep to the main road, but he was sure that he could just make it out and back to Baker's Street in time.

Four of them, Sherlock guessed and while he didn't mind his chances he didn't like that he had Molly here. They should have just waited for the cab where it was safe. A slight flick sound-one of them had a blade.

All of them were at his back, he pulled his arm from Molly's grasp and pushed her behind him. "Go down the alley," he said. "Run…"

Molly didn't seem to understand at first and Sherlock was taking his coat off, goading her away. She nodded, fear flashing in her eyes and then took off running. Molly was fast for someone who was in the throes of the effect of a sedative like GHB, but he heard her fall in the snow further out. The first of the men didn't give him time to look at her as he charged in with the knife.

His suit was too tight, too pristinely cut. But lucky this wasn't the normal coat, this one was thick enough. With the coat bundled about one arm, Sherlock blocked the knife and palm thrust the first attack in the nose. The knife fell into the snow somewhere and he quickly worked the man's chest until the second reached him. Loafers weren't the shoes for slippery surfaces but Sherlock was confident and kicked the second man staggering only to catch him and slam his head into the brick wall of the alley.

Three and four were smarter, they came at him in unison. Still he was between all of their attacks, blocking anything that they threw at him. Wing Chun, Krav Maga… Sherlock had to admit that sometimes over training paid off, he dispatched of the two in seconds, slamming one face first onto the ground and choking the other one until the blood flow to his brain made his body go limp. The other two were out cold where he had left them.

Sherlock ran back to Molly, swinging the coat off his arm and throwing it over her as he helped her up. "Are you okay?"

"I might have messed up your scarf," she held it out from her neck. Molly's knee was scuffed up and she was slow to move. Sherlock carried her the rest of the way to the flat and she seemed even less lucid than before, even bothering to throw her arms up and scream in excitement every few minutes.

He didn't bother to try and find Mrs. Hudson and when he passed John's room he noticed that he was gone. Sherlock laid Molly on the couch and went to call John, there was no answer to that or texts. _Probably was out with one of his many female 'friends'._

Molly had worked her way out of the scarf and coat and was laying on the couch poking at the wound on her knee. Sherlock rushed back into the room. "Its going to get infected, act like a Doctor, Molly," he walked her to the bathroom and sat on the toilet while she sat on the tub's edge and he washed the knee off, careful to mind the skirt (they hiked it up to keep it out of the way, it was only logical). Then he applied some alcohol and cream to the knee.

The sting caused Molly to latch onto him and tense up, when it had passed he left her to go put some tea on. He would have asked Mrs. Hudson, but she was just his landlady after all. As he stood in the kitchen messing with the pot (tea was John's thing, not his) he heard the radio come on in the other room. At first it was classical and then the station changed to something poppy and top 40. He looked up from the stove. "John, turn that rubbish off…"

"Not John," came Molly's voice. She stepped into the entryway to the kitchen completely calm and completely nude. "I remember how you knew that Adler woman from _just her body_ and I had a thought, maybe you could get to know me the same way," that glazed look was still in her eyes.

At least it appeared her knee was better.


	3. She Goes Like the Clappers

**She Goes Like the Clappers**

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><p>Why was he looking at her like he'd never seen her before? It made sense she guessed, she was completely naked standing in the doorway to the kitchen just like they do in all of those adult movies. Her mind was racing with a million thoughts a second and she wondered above all else was this the kind of thing expected in some relationships, was it the normal thing to do?<p>

It certainly wasn't overly sexual, though she didn't care if it became like that. Nothing was being inserted anywhere and there wasn't wetness…well not excessive wetness. She raised her arm to lean against the door frame. "Sherlock? Did you hear me?" Molly asked. "Is this enough or should I do a little spin?" Molly started to turn in place like a car on display in the dealership.

Sherlock ran to stop her and unbuttoned his shirt to throw it around her. Molly hadn't realized it before but he wore tight little undershirts. They were kind of sexy, if she had to say so."Oh are we going to play dress up to do it?" she asked. "I wear your clothes…you wear mine—though you're a bit tall…and my skirt will drop right off of you," she sighed.

"Dress up before what?" asked Sherlock. She'd never seen him so flustered and confused, but she had noticed how he looked her over. He'd remember this. "We've got to get you into some clothes and out of sight before Mrs. Hudson or John wonders what's been going on in here," he turned her around taking her by the shoulders. "Molly, you've got to put your own clothes back on."

"I like your clothes."

"Fine, but we've got to keep you busy until the drugs wear off," he said. "Can you go into my room and just sit on the bed?"

Molly nodded and stumbled through the flat toward the room. Sherlock's bed looked comfortable so the sitting wouldn't be any trouble. She'd do one better and just flop down onto the whole thing. When she landed in the plush comforter she wiggled her body around, rubbing against the bed. The fabric just felt _interesting_.

Moments later Sherlock appeared in the door behind her holding a PS3 and the wires. He almost dropped the game when he spotted her. "I told you to sit…I got this contraption out of John's room for you to play with or watch some movies…but you have to be still while you're doing it.

It wasn't long before he had it hooked up (he had to move the television into the room) and she was sitting on the bed while he cleaned up. He brought her clothes in and piled them neatly on the chair. She played the disc that was in the system, _Killzone 3_, though she didn't quite know what she was doing. She just got online running around and shooting. Sherlock eventually sat in the bedside chair and watched her.

Everyone once in a while Sherlock would make some exasperated sound at her performance in the game. Then he started to give actually commentary.

"You don't want to cook the grenade so long; it's going to go off right in your face…"

"Stop using the jetpack, it's just getting you killed faster…"

"Fine, shoot from the hip if you like. It's only seventy-three point five percent less likely to produce a kill…"

Most of the advice went ignored as Molly did whatever the Hell she wanted. When she finally spoke to him it wasn't about the game. "I talked with someone about casual sex tonight, you know no strings, just good fun. What do you think about it?"

"Not sure what that has to do with anything, he's got the W.A.S.P. launcher, look out," Sherlock said trying to draw her attention back to the game. Her man got blown up, not that she was doing well anyway. Besides, she was talking about sex with Sherlock. Why hadn't they discussed sex before?

"When was the last time you had sex, Sherlock?" she asked as she waited for the next match to begin. "I don't mean a knobber or some girl giving you a rub down, but actual sex?"

Sherlock said nothing and she ended up interjecting another comment. "I tried last with Jim, he didn't seem interested. Kind of why I got so pissed when you said he was gay like that…sorry about that," she said. "I was just—pent up rage. It's been a long time and there's only so much I can do with battery operated friends or my fingers—I mean sometimes when I get down there I just go like the clappers…"

He bolted from the room talking on his way out. "Do you want to play split screen? I'll get the remote from John's room."

"Cool."

Molly didn't know what happened. One minute they were playing the game and the next she was waking up under the covers with Sherlock's big shirt hanging off of her and the sound of John's voice coming from the other room. "What do you mean she played a few hours of Killzone, I spent a whole Saturday getting my ELO up and you go and drag it back down like that…Christ Sherlock!"

"I'm sorry that someone who nearly became a rape victim messed up your giant sweaty men with guns fantasy space game!" Sherlock shouted.

Molly barely remembered anything besides playing games. Had she been attacked?

"You didn't say anything about rape…" John trailed off. "Is she okay?"

"She scraped her knee and was a little shaken up, but she's fine. She's sleeping it off now," said Sherlock.

"What happened to the attacker?" asked John.

"Well he slipped something in her drink and she got away from him, scratched his face pretty bad too. But he must have called some friends because they attacked us in the alley. Don't worry I didn't kill any of them, called Lestrade to tell him where to find them," Sherlock said.

John laughed. "You're like a really mean super hero," he said. "Molly's lucky."

She didn't think she should be hearing this. She thought it was one of those conversations best left private but there was nowhere to go. Sherlock walked into the room and tried to shake her awake. "You need to eat, John's brewing tea and since we're low on anything here, I'm going to have to take you to get something," he said.

Molly's body was pounding, her leg was sore and scraped up and she felt like she'd downed an entire brewery whilst being dragged behind the tube. "I really can't go out to get food," she managed to get onto her feet and walk out into the sitting room. "Hello, John," she said as she headed for the bathroom.

"Molly," he said politely. John was always polite.

She entered the bathroom and shut the door, flicking the fan and light on. Briefly she turned toward the mirror and then she noticed that the front of Sherlock's shirt was hanging open. He had just let her walk out of the room completely nude.

Through the door she could hear Sherlock and John whispering and she knew what about. She used the restroom, washed her hands and buttoned the shirt. Then she cracked the door and peeked out. "Sorry about that," her face must have been so red but she was too sore to bother being as nervous as normal. It just felt different now.

"Would you like for us to bring you some clothes?" John asked.

"Yes please," she said.

Molly waited while he retrieved her dress and other clothes and she changed in the bathroom. When she stepped out Sherlock nearly freaked out. "You flushed the toilet! We needed to get a sample!" he said. "How are supposed to prove what happened?"

"It shows up in hair too, last I checked I've still got that" she said.

Sherlock flopped into the chair looking quite angry and it was cute. He was worried about her, at least a little. He had gone through a lot of trouble with her. "How long was I nude in here?" asked Molly.

John got up. "I'll run out and get us all a pizza, Molly probably wants to rest more…" he said.

"Yes I think that would be best," Sherlock said.

When John was leaving Molly glared at him. "Tell me what happened," she said.

Sherlock explained to her what he had surmised from the glasses on the tables to finding her and the fight in the alley. When he told her how she had gotten nude and what she had said she reddened, shocked more by the fact she had tried to seduce him than anything. "I'm so sorry," she said.

"It's quite alright, it's not like I'm traumatized by seeing a beautiful naked woman," he said. His knee bobbing up and down, Sherlock was rapidly tapping his foot. Was he nervous?

"I didn't do anything else did I?" she asked. "Did I say anything or like, bite Mrs. Hudson?'

Sherlock smiled. "Course not, now I'll sleep out here, you're staying the night in my room—I could hardly sleep at this rate anyway." There was something sarcastic in his voice.

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><p><em>There's more to come.<em>


	4. Let Me Kiss You

**Let Me Kiss You**

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><p>He had ordered an examination table from the internet and assembled it himself when it came two days later. A few of the more sensitive items he would have to use at the university, the rest of the things he could procure he would bring here for his experiments. It was a measure of convenience, less time traveling between the flat and Saint Bart's meant more time for cases and other things.<p>

John didn't see things this way. He hadn't agreed with the body parts being in the fridge before but many of them couldn't be considered fresh anymore considering there had been no way for him to refresh his supply. What with all the time that would be wasted going to Bart's. Sherlock had kept them for the first week and a half.

Then John throws the body parts out, the whole lot of them and cleans the fridge out with bleach and sponges. He shouts at Sherlock to being petty and just go visit Molly—he thinks this is all about her. Probably because his whole life is all about women but Sherlock is determined to make sure John doesn't know what's going on.

"What was it that happened with you and Molly?" John asks when a furious Sherlock refuses to go get more body parts from the labs.

"Why must it always be that something happened?" he replied. "I simply don't see the value of venturing all the way to the hospital."

"It's just a few blocks, look, I'm sorry about your experiments but if you just get some new raw materials you can keep them in here. You just have to go and ask Molly like a normal adult," John said.

Sherlock scoffed, dropping onto the couch and folding his arms. He would go to Bart's, John didn't have to know that Molly wasn't there when he did it. With a quick stop he could have all of the chemicals and raw materials he needed. But there was something more important he had to do first, something that had been on the table for a while.

When John left for work Sherlock set out, he was running a little late and had the good fortune of running into a cab downstairs. He took it down the block to the pub. He'd had some idea of how to be inconspicuous. He wore a high collar coat, a duster. His hair was gelled and combed down over one eye and to top it all off he wore glasses. If he kept his distance and observed through his peripheral vision she'd not even see him there.

The bar was loud and he almost bumped into her as he passed. Molly was a hair's breadth from him and she hadn't noticed. It was luck too, because no matter how good the disguise needed to be he couldn't bring himself to part with the scarf. She had given it to him, but it was incredibly comfortable and tonight was particularly cold. It was only logical he wore it.

_There was a hint of her scent still on it_.

Sherlock shook that thought from his head as he took a seat at the bar where he could see every exit and watch Molly and her friends. He sipped scotch and just watched, the men that had attacked them in the alley had managed to get away from Lestrade's men and Sherlock couldn't help but fear that the man who tried to rape Molly would return to the scene of the crime and possibly hurt her. So he had to sit in on the Molly's outing.

Apparently it was Jen's Hen Night and Molly and her friends were particularly rowdy. He couldn't believe she was like this, that she was ever like this and it made him wonder about how others reacted when he wasn't a known observer.

To think that he could have an effect over an entire person's personality simply by being a known presence in the room was cause to rethink his entire repertoire of interactions with other human beings. The Molly he was seeing out, even before she got shattered, was more akin to the drugged Molly than the timid creature that he had seen inhabiting the cafeteria and labs at Saint Bart's.

He watched her with fascination and a renewed interest. When she ventured over to the bar to get drinks (he noticed how careful she was to keep an eye on the glass the entire time it was being poured) he observed things about her he had never really taken in because they didn't seem to matter. Her fingers were slightly callused on her left hand, it seemed from playing guitar by the look of it. She had a sincere smile, always so cheerful.

Some man in a half opened shirt touched her at the small of her back and Sherlock moved to better see what was going on. He could hear the whole thing.

"Pay for your drink, Love?" he asked.

Molly tugged the glass back, keeping it close to her face and shoulder and keeping her eyes on it. "No, thank you though—here with my girlfriend's. Hen night," she said.

The guy left her alone after that and the rest of the night passed pretty much without any incident. Molly's gay friend, Saul was his name, walked Molly home. He could tell by their interactions that there had been some attempted romance there in the past, instantly he felt jealous of Saul but he didn't understand why.

A light dusting of flurries began to fall as he made his way to Saint Bart's. He decided to proceed there on foot despite the distance. Unlike he had expected, the walk didn't clear his head. He took his time going through the labs and grabbing what little things he could, his disguise discarded out of a need for comfort. Many of the chemicals he needed were liquid and would be hard to get back to Baker's street. He packed them up as carefully as he could and when he was trying to move some ammonium sulfate into a container the door to the lab swung open and he turned back to drop the scooper.

"Sherlock?" Molly was standing in the door behind him, still dressed in her clothes from the pub.

"I stopped in to pick up a few things," he stammered. Why was he frightened of Molly suddenly? Not frightened, but why did he feel—this? "You're out late, its not safe," he said.

Molly had had a file folder in her hand. "Is that concern I hear?" she asked as she walked over and opened the folder on the table. She was flipping through some of it and then placed it on a shelf.

"Of course not, simply stating facts," Sherlock said.

She laughed. Not her normal, nervous giggle with the sideways glance, but an honest to God laugh like he had seen in the pub. "Be still my heart, you sure know how to show a lass what she means," Molly said fanning herself playfully. Sherlock piled the chemicals into the box, he needed to leave as it was late. "You've got more than a few things there? You need help carrying it?" she asked. He couldn't bring himself to refuse her.

So they shared a cab back to Baker's Street where she helped him carry his things upstairs. She'd even managed to pack a few more chemicals into a separate bag of containers. Sherlock watched as Molly bent over and catalogued the chemicals on the shelf, the dress came up slightly and he could see the extensive architecture of her legs and even some of her thigh.

Without being able to stop the thought, he remembered her nude in the kitchen doorway, he craved that hungry look in her eye and he wondered about the sound she would make if he bit her thigh. Of course he'd never done these things—but he had heard about them in school and seen them in movies.

He wanted Molly.

Sherlock didn't even understand it. Part of him had wanted Irene Adler but it was different, he felt guilty because she was vile, despite the way he found her impressive. Molly was the opposite, she was sweet and serene and he had come to see lately sort of posh, though she hid it well. She came from money and wasn't rude and didn't have a superiority complex.

When they had finished putting the goods away he walked her home, John was back, he noticed though he made no effort to venture out and see what was going on. Sherlock knew it was intentional.

Molly's wasn't far so he walked her home and he walked her to the door, not being sure what else to do with her. It reminded him of Liz in sixth form when all that he wanted was a kiss and he found her even slightly odd and annoying but he couldn't stop thinking about her and those lips. He stole the kiss from Liz in a courageous mix of manipulation and clever timing, but she had reciprocated.

He wished that he had that bold, hormone driven passion to try something like that with Molly, even though he figured she would kiss back he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Thanks for walking me home, you really are worried about me, aren't you?"

"As I said its just not safe—after what happened…" Sherlock trailed off.

Molly giggled. "No worries, I don't mind the company," she said. "Oh, I had something to ask you! I'm teaching a class and I need someone with…well, your experience to drop by and just help with a few experiments. No pressure," she said.

"I could—yes, contact me with the place and time and I shall try. My caseload permitting," Sherlock turned to leave and she was unlocking her door. "Goodnight, Doctor Hooper," he never called her that, it came out cold and far too formal. Why had he done it?

"Sherlock wait," Molly left her keys in the ajar door and sprinted the distance down the hall to him, she reached him, pushed up onto her toes and kissed him just on upper right part of his lips. There was only a moment of contact and when she turned to go inside she paused at the door and glanced back over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Mister Holmes."

* * *

><p>Three weeks more. Molly hadn't called him, what was she playing at. He was beginning to feel like all women played games, all of them were into the same manner of trickery as Irene, just with smaller stakes. He continued his surveillance and he had even checked in on her attacker, part of him wanted to lash out and just jump the man, but he knew better.<p>

When Molly and her friends went to a musician themed costume party at a pub, Sherlock attended. For this he took a few drastic measures, going as far as to cut the sides of his hair and comb it straight out into a huge loopy curl in the front like Morrissey. To top it all off he worse some ripped jeans and a skin tight shirt with a huge red cross on it and the word England written across the top in an archaic looking font.

He took his seat at the bar as usual and watched. He wasn't sure who Molly had come as, but it was very sexy and he wondered if she was always this confident when not around him. If she shopped like this, if she ate like this, if she was like this with her parents and family and colleagues.

_If she fucked like this…_

Slash sat down next to Sherlock, or someone dressed as the famous musician Slash. Sherlock was forced to lean out to see Molly because of the huge loopy wig that covered the other man's head. The dress was something he hadn't seen Molly in before—it was lifting things, separating, nursing curves that he had only recently found out. Molly wore a black, curly wig and her makeup was done to a much more extravagant degree than normal. She had on huge hoop earrings that caught all of the light and sparkled.

"Cigarette?" Slash held out a slender white stick.

"I don't smoke," Sherlock never glanced over and just kept his eyes on Molly, she was dancing with her friend Serena now.

"Just the one?" comes the voice and when Slash lifts his head and peeks between the glasses and ridiculous top hat Sherlock can see that under the wig and absurd clothes is his brother Mycroft. How could he have missed it?

"What are you doing here," Sherlock says shaking his head at him.

Mycroft shrugged. "Wondering what you're doing here," he said.

"Molly Hooper was attacked, I'm simply seeing that no more harm comes to her," he said.

"I see, is he targeting her legs or pristine little arse?" Mycroft asked. "It's all you've been staring at since I've been watching."

Sherlock doesn't have a comeback for this, he doesn't have anything.

"You've been neglecting cases for this woman, day dreaming about her and even avoiding a wealth of free equipment and materials for which to do experiments just over this woman—why not do the easy thing and just approach her," Mycroft said.

"How is that the easy thing?"

Mycroft stole Sherlock's scotch away. "Because all women aren't Irene Adler or Liz Caldwell—some of them are in the middle or want you and want the honest to god best for you, Molly seems like something you don't see much in the world, she's a good person who has a good heart."

"A lot of people are good, the whole of society isn't in jail or eating each other," Sherlock said.

"But how many do what they do because the law forbids it, or society forbids it…how many do the wrong thing because the law doesn't forbid it. Greed and hatred, racism, sexism," he paused here. "Molly is happy to do right and you've seen it, it's just so foreign to you that you don't know what to do."

"I don't think that means I need to talk to her," Sherlock said.

Mycroft smiled. "It doesn't, but put it this way: if you don't go talk to her I will take a picture of you that's already been snapped with my phone and send it to all of the papers, the blogs, I'll even make sure James Moriarty gets a copy…so how would you rather be embarrassed?" he was on his way out of the bar now.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. "Mother will hear about this," he said.

Mycroft chuckled and held his hand up with his fingers a pinch apart. "I've worked this close to Gordon Brown, Tony Blair and George Bush—that woman doesn't scare me anymore…" he walked past Sherlock and froze besides his brother. "And really Sherlock, Morrissey? And you call me a queen…"

With that Mycroft was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_I hate to do things like this and say nothing. The title Let Me Kiss You is a reference to Morrissey, it's the title of one of his songs._


	5. White Houses

**White Houses **

* * *

><p>Molly adjusted the dark mop of hair that sat atop her head. It was the only problem piece in her costume as it had a tendency to slip to one side when she made any sudden movements. The dress was new and not at all like the things she normally wore. It was pink with a wide black belt that sat just beneath the bust. Kara had dared her to dress up like Katy Perry for the party. None of them figured that she would actually do it because the outfit wasn't very <em>Molly<em>.

When Saul returned with her drink he smiled at her and said. "Don't fret, I didn't put anything in it," he said.

"I don't have to worry about you trying to rape me," Molly started. "Because you're camp," Molly joked.

"No woman in here is scared of Saul's penis," Pat said.

"Laugh it up you two, I've at least got something. Which is more than I can say for no ass over here," he nodded toward Pat. "And Molly has anyone told you tonight that you look like a seven year old Korean boy dressed like Katy Perry?"

Molly was taking a drink and nearly spit into her glass laughing when she heard him speak. Pat and Saul began laughing with her and the three of them stood in the middle of the floor for a good few seconds just cracking up. Saul's eyes shifted upward at something past Molly off to her side.

"Morrissey, three o'clock. And it looks like he's checking out our Doctor Molly Hooper," Saul said.

Molly turned before the word came out of her mouth. "Where?" she said and when she spotted him striding through the crowd toward her she froze under those intense green eyes. Her mouth dropped open part of the way and she locked eyes with him, following him until he was directly in front of her. He touched her at the shoulder, his finger hooking the strap of her dress and lifting it slightly and Molly couldn't help but let a little sigh escape.

His mouth was flattened into an expressionless line and she couldn't be sure what he was thinking. She searched his eyes carefully and when he spoke she smiled slightly. "I had to come make sure you were alright, after what happened with those men before," he said.

She threw her arms around him and dove against him. "You're too sweet," she said. Then she turned back to her friends (who were still staring at the scene) and explained. "Everyone this is Sherlock, I've probably mentioned him…"

"Oh he is delicious," Saul said.

Molly shot him an arch look that slowly morphed back into a smile. "Ignore him, Sherlock."

"Already done," he said with a light hearted smile that surprised Molly.

She turned to him, still hanging off his side. Molly was in that comfortable area of drunkenness where she could do this with no problem. "Why did you have to dress up?" she asked. "If you were just coming to…you know," she glanced to her side and it was a cue that her friends totally understood. They all began to shuffle away from the two of them.

"I had to blend," Sherlock said.

"Course," Molly said.

"Who are you supposed to be?" he asked.

"Katy Perry," Molly said.

"Not sure who that is."

Molly was pulling him toward a corner table. "Let's have a seat—I feel like I haven't seen you in forever." When they were away from the speakers and the noise she continued. "You don't come by Saint Bart's, you could even drop by my flat if you feel like it sometime…"

"I pass, just to make sure you're okay," Sherlock said.

"Oh."

She was doing it again, was it a conscious thing? Would he notice? Of course he did. Molly was running her fingers around the top of the glass slowly and letting them slide down to the shaft of it too. If she stopped too suddenly he'd notice for sure.

"Molly look," he started.

"A drink!" she screamed. "We're getting him a drink," one of the waitresses was next to the table and Molly had flagged them down. "Make it something strong and another of these too," she held her own glass up.

Sherlock sighed. "Sounds appropriate," he said.

"You do that well, for a while you had me fooled you know," Molly said.

"What?"

"Play this horrible…cu-cunt…" Molly had trouble getting the word out, even while she was drunk. "You want others to leave you be. And I've got a theory for why that is, why you do this. It's because you're not sure how to act in social situations, you know most of it. Maybe its that you don't understand it, its tiring for you to constantly have to be on your toes with everyone and the interactions so you push people away. Your scared that if people see you how you really are, see a human you, then they won't be impressed or like you and the might choose to leave you on their own. So you push them away first," Molly said. "Maybe that's three theories," she put her index finger to her chin.

"I'm not scared."

"I figured you out Sherlock, you're not what you claimed to be. You're much better," she lunged forward and kissed him. "Just face it."

The waitress returned with their drinks and Sherlock didn't know what she had ordered him but he gulped it down hungrily and ordered another. Two drinks later when they started playing Katy Perry's _Last Friday Night_, Molly convinced Sherlock it was a sign and they had to dance. The conversation had lightened after she told him that she could see him, see who he really was.

She tugged him out onto the floor and they danced at an awkwardly slow pace for the song. Molly let him take the lead slowly and she figured that he would prefer this to her trying to grind up against him, not that she did that (with so little alcohol in her system). In the middle of their continued bodily contact she realized that almost all of the apprehension she used to feel had faded. Sherlock was brilliant, he was sexy, but he was just a man.

And over the past several weeks the real her had been slipping out more and more. Sherlock was learning who Molly Hooper was too.

Yanking her hand from his, she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled herself close to his chest. She could hear his heart thundering beneath that tight white shirt and she wondered if she had caused this. She smiled. "I caught you," she said.

"Caught me what?"

"Trying to look at their breasts," she chuckled. "They're not this big, I double-bra'd," she said.

"Double-bra?"

"Yeah, but it does cause other complications—mostly in the removing of said bras," she said.

"I see."

"You don't, but you'd like to," she laughed. Sherlock fell silent and just held tight to her. "I'm just kidding," she added. But she wasn't.

They danced for a few more songs and then Kara wanted everyone to take a shot, she said it was for how Jen probably getting banged up against a hotel window in Aruba. (Jen was _still_ on her Honeymoon). Sherlock and Molly had seconds on their shots.

Then they were outside the club alone. Molly told her friends she would go home with Sherlock, but not in that way. They sat on the curb together under the starry sky, it was unseasonably warm and they could do that. There was no conversation at first, there was just the sound of them sitting there and then Molly let her head fall to a rest on Sherlock's shoulder. "Tell me the truth," she said a minute later. "Why do you get so awkward when I mention sex or my body."

Sherlock glanced over at her. "Those things aren't my area."

"Oh my God, Saul and Kara were right," Molly said. "When I went over there to tell them they said we were cute together but that you were a virgin."

Sherlock's gaze became cold.

"I don't mind it at all, so you're not going to have some crazy slag keying my car because you didn't pay your child support and I won't be getting crabs from you, what's the big deal," Molly smiled.

"Most women don't really want to hear what I have to say long enough to get to that point, its why I've given up trying."

"I stuck in there, you were so mean and do you know what? I've had worse. You didn't hit me like this one bloke, you didn't steal any money from me and you did good things. You saved people, you tried to warn me about Moriarty, however rude you were with it," she said.

"Sex isn't in my future, Molly. My work, my life, the way I think…it won't allow me to—"

Molly got to her feet and dusted herself off as he spoke and cut him off right in the middle of his sentence. "Take me home, Sherlock," she said.

"You need to understand—"

"Just shut up and take me home," Molly said it, though there wasn't anger, there wasn't disappointment or anything else. She sounded as level headed and straightforward as she had ever sounded to herself and she knew that this was the cusp of something big.

Sherlock hailed a cab and they were carried back to the row of buildings where her flat was. He walked her up to the door and she opened it to let him into the darkened room. Toby wound his way between the pair of them as they entered and she picked him up. "Oh Toby, momma's gonna need you in your pet-porter," she caged the cat and locked it.

Molly yanked the wig from her head and tossed it on the counter. "I want to show you something," she called him into the living area to show him a huge piano against the wall. "You like?"

"It's new?"

"Mum missed me playing so she bought it so I could refresh," she said taking a seat.

Sherlock watched as she lifted the key cover and found the placing for her fingers. She started slowly, her voice cracking at first because it had been far too long. But it all came back to her suddenly in a rush of adrenaline and pure necessity.

_"Crashed on the floor when I moved in_

_"This little bungalow with some strange new friends_

_"Stayed up too late and I'm too thin…"_

She sang and watched Sherlock and the amazement that played over his face was rampant. His eyes widened and he stared at her as if she had just revealed that she were Moriarty. Or the Cabbie. Or a Chinese gangster. Or even all three.

Molly had been told that she sang like an American, she had a crystal clear quality that you found in many young women singers like Michelle Branch, though she didn't consider herself to be on the pro-level.

When she was about to close the song out and she hit the bridge she realized that Sherlock was closer to her now, his thrill in her performance palpable now.

_"My—first—time_

_"Hard to explain_

_"Rush of blood, oh_

_"And a little bit of pain_

_"On a cloudy day its more common than you think_

_"He's—my first—mistake…" _

Molly didn't get any further, Sherlock half tackled her into the piano kissing her and she pushed him back slightly with a teasing chuckle. She kicked the bench to slide back and turned her back to the keys, shutting the lid as she climbed to sit on the piano. Sherlock rushed her again, this time standing in the niche between her legs as he kissed her hungrily.

A soft sound escaped Molly's mouth and she tugged herself away. "It seems like you understand some social cues, pretty well," she said.

Sherlock laughed, a little wicked throaty laugh and she hopped down motioning for him to follow her. She pointed to the bed. "Why don't you lay down over there Sherlock, I have one more thing to show you."

He did as he was told and she strolled into the bathroom and kicked her heels off, then she worked her knickers down. There was no need to take the dress off for this. Molly walked into the bed room, her bare feet sinking into the floor rug. "Well?"

"Your knickers are gone. Why are you knickers gone? Are you sure you want to do this—there's well, the taboos, its so soon."

"I've known you for years and honestly, does waiting really make us better people?" the tiny Molly in her head uttered a little, _Thank you, Drake._

No more protests to offer, Sherlock laid there as she crawled over the bed to him straddled him. His costume jeans were so tight that she could see the beginnings of the bulge hidden beneath all that denim. She was on him in a heartbeat and it was shocking how much attention he paid to her legs, he couldn't keep his hands off of them. They were kissing at first and she waited before she let him slip past the folds of skin.

Virgin or not, it had been so long since the last time that Molly he could have been laying there dead and it would have been enough. But he was surprisingly responsive, reading what felt good and complying very quickly.

He put a hand to her chest, his breath growing so shallow and ragged that it just spurred her to move faster. She reached up and knocked the straps off her shoulders, slowing her pace so that she could concentrate and Sherlock's hands fumbled with the bra only a second before he unhooked the first and then the second.

She loved front-hook.

Sherlock sat up to take the nipple in his mouth and the warmness of his mouth as he moved over the sensitive skin caused her to let out a gasp. He was pushing deeper into her now and she grabbed his hand and pushed it up between her, working his fingers and hers in between them.

"Molly," her name escaped his lips and ghosted over her skin. And again. "Molly," it was more animalistic and primal.

He wasn't even done yet, but that did it for Molly in what was probably record time. She let out a slight whimper, her first instinct being to fight it, _not yet._ But she let out a sharp sound and felt her body go hot and wibbly and she tightened around every part of him, his hand, his shoulder, his cock.

She let out an exuberant squeal and then Sherlock was groaning and slowing his pace.

Molly kissed his lips and ran her hands over his head before pulling back and scanning him with her big brown eyes. She was still on top of him, moving slightly now. "Bother, I think I might have got your jeans wet."

Sherlock answered in the form of a kiss, pulling her down to him and biting her lip while he moved his hands to grip her from behind.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_The song used was "White Houses" by Vanessa Carlton. _


	6. Alienating an Audience

**Alienating an Audience**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _So it's been a while and I've been writing other things. This is it folks. This is the end._

* * *

><p>Molly was a heavy sleeper. Sherlock easily moved her arms from around him and deposited her onto one side of the bed. She was sleeping too soundly for him to bother with waking her. Besides, Molly made the worst coffee and it was only out of convenience that he ever bothered to ask her to do it for him. He was far too lazy to do it himself typically. This time he would let her slide.<p>

Sherlock made his way from the bedroom to the kitchen using a second sheet from the bed as cover. He kept it wrapped about his person for cover as he entered the next room over. It was strange to him that he would even bother to keep covered up. Maybe he was growing to respect Molly and out of some sensibility for her place he didn't want to be nude.

Then again, maybe he didn't like the idea of Toby staring at his penis like it was a tiny dangly scratching post waiting to be leapt at.

As he rounded the corner into the living nook to find Toby perched upon the lap of his disdainful brother. He was scratching at the underside of the cat's head, ruffling the hair on what would be its chin. Sherlock paused, tightened the sheets around his form.

"Didn't expect you to turn up to gloat this soon. Let me guess you set this up?" Sherlock said. When Mycroft didn't answer he continued. "Oh come on, Molly suddenly getting it in herself to dance with me—then the way she reacted to me being at the bar—then—"

"Oh come off it, Sherlock. The girl asked me to talk to you and I knew that the place to find you easiest would be at that bar. You were watching her, of course. That I already knew."

"So you came there to find me because you knew she would be there?" Sherlock said.

"I came here to stop you from leaving."

Sherlock shifted his stance. "What about this situation makes you think I had any intent on leaving."

"You're afraid closeness and notoriously opposed to love. I have to apologize again for the hand which I played in that. I fear that pushing you into the hands of that Adler woman may have severely damaged any chance you had at finding normalcy."

"How long have you been here?" Sherlock wondered if it were possible that his brother had been around for the whole act. He didn't really think that was something Mycroft would do. But it didn't surprise him to what extent his brother would go to keep tabs on him and of late he was doing so personally. Mycroft hadn't done that in some time.

"I arrived while you were sleeping. I've got a key to her place you know."

Sherlock felt his temper flared, but he managed to stuff it back down. He controlled his tone, if only for the sake of not waking Molly. "You've got keys to everywhere."

"I suppose I do." Mycroft shifted his cane from one side to the other. "Tell me, did you finally get rid of that pesky Virginity problem?"

"Is that what this is about? How very _National Lampoon _of my dear older brother. The man who surrounds himself with half-nude twenty-something bimbos that do his bidding is trying to help me develop a sexual relationship with a colleague," Sherlock said.

"Those _bimbos _have all commented at one time or another about you. Would you like me to get a transcript of their texts about how 'hot' you are or how that floppy sided hat 'turned them on'?" he asked. There was a pause and Mycroft rose from the couch to meet his him at a level height. "As for Ms. Hooper being your _colleague, _I think we can refer to her as something a little more personal. Your friend, Molly Hooper. Your acquaintance, Molly Hooper. The woman that you love, Molly Hooper—"

"Excuse me?" Molly was at the door to the bedroom with his coat draped over her obviously naked body. Sherlock's mind went blank for a second as his eyes drank her in. He could tell what side of the bed someone got up on in seconds or pick out the fact that a person was a reformed smoker in less time than it took to blink. But his eyes took their time on Molly Hooper. This morning she seemed to be a different person than she had been before. Radiant even.

He wondered if Mycroft had known she was there when he said all of that. "Tell her Sherlock. Tell her that the reason you've avoided her. That you've taken painstaking trouble to make your entire flat into a laboratory is because you fear love and you love her. You never thought to hide from anyone before. You meet every challenge head on. Gangsters. CIA Agents. Spectral animals. Terrorists. Yet you uproot your entire routine to hide from Molly Hooper—a woman who wouldn't dream of bruising grapes if there was a fruit fight on."

Molly lunged from the doorway, with enough of her mind to keep the coat held in one hand, and slapped Mycroft across the face. Toby darted off of the couch as she stood there in front of the elder Holmes brother with her hand still raised, the shock playing across her pale features.

Blood dripped from Mycroft's lip and he retrieved a handkerchief to collect it. He was leaning down on his walking stick, eyeing Molly very heavily. His glance passed to Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn't move for a second. He was shocked, turned on and proud—though not necessarily in that order. By the time that he realized what was happening, he was standing at Molly's side with his hand on the small of her back. He could feel her warmth through the exquisite stitch work of the coat.

"How dare you come into my flat and talk about your brother like that. If you're honestly so sorry for what happened with Irene Adler then why do you seek to belittle and embarrass him now?" Molly said.

"Because he needs to learn that he can't walk out on obligations!" Mycroft said.

"Why would you think that's what I was doing? Did you think me to be exactly like you?" Sherlock asked.

"What did you say?"

"You don't think I've really forgotten that, Mycroft. Sure I've failed to mention it when you were playing high and mighty all of these years. But perhaps the reason that I've got a knack for avoiding love and relationships and sex is because the first true experience I had with sex was watching my older brother be screamed at for impregnating a neighborhood girl and seeing the way the girl looked at him after her parents forced her to have the _thing_ aborted," Sherlock paced the floor. He was on one of his rolls now. "She asked Mycroft to go with her. Father and Mother were going to let him but he refused and the girl was so crushed that she moved away."

Mycroft was simmering, his lip quivered and every last inch of that calm, collected _Ice Man_ demeanor faded.

"What were you telling me again, Mycroft? About obligations?"

That was it. Mycroft stepped around Molly Hooper to collect his coat off of the back of the couch, his eyes never touched Sherlock and the latter never moved. "Farewell, Miss Hooper," he was out the door in an instant.

The pride Sherlock had felt shifted to himself—

—until Molly rounded on him. "How can you be so cold? Dredging up your brother's past like that and referring to someone's unborn child as a thing? Even if it was to be terminated? Even if it was unwanted and never to be born they're not things and women who have to go through that alone, especially back then…they're, well, they're going to need all the support that they can get. But they're not battle pieces in your game of Chess with Mycroft!"

For a moment he thought that he'd be on the receiving end of a slap, too. But Molly stormed back into her bed room. He stood there somehow feeling that in besting Mycroft he had lost, somehow. Then his text alert sounded.

_Download complete. _

Sherlock unlocked his phone and stared at the photo that looked back at him from the screen of his Blackberry. Mycroft, a very recent photo, standing next to a slightly aged, but still attractive Ginny Schaefer and between them was a young woman. By his calculation, she would be about twenty-two or three, though Sherlock realized all too late who the girl was. He knew her. Yes. Paint her face, put her in a suit and slip her into the back of a limousine—the nameless girl from the back of Mycroft's Maybach. The one John had a (brief) obsession with.

He rolled the scroll wheel to see the rest the text below the picture.

_Obligations. I managed to convince her parents to keep the child and move away. Kept in touch with them over the years and even got my daughter a job working very close to her father. Meet your niece._

_-MH_

Sherlock locked his phone and dropped to sit on the floor right where he stood. Was he upset that he had actually been wrong? That Molly was mad at him? Or was there something else there? His brother had played him for twenty something years and now that the truth was out, he'd revealed more of his coldness to a woman he might have loved and driven what seemed an immobile wedge between himself and the last relative who would speak to him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_Not the ending that you expected? Well I've got a plan to write one more of these and then another after that, but the third will be a bit of a crossover. Maybe I'm just dreaming too big this time. But there will be a new part to this very (very) soon._


End file.
